


Enough

by worldwars



Category: Coronation Street
Genre: Canon Compliant, Extended Scene, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-22
Updated: 2015-11-09
Packaged: 2018-04-16 16:04:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4631475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/worldwars/pseuds/worldwars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She is so heavy – but when he touches her, she's light.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"I will hurt you in the end, you know."_
> 
> _"I'll take my chances."_

She sighs and he feels it. He feels it where she lay her head against his chest in the early hours of the morning, when no words were spoken, lips too busy to give promises a chance. She feels warm against him, and this comes as no surprise, for she isn't as cold as she makes herself out to be, though her feet were when they woke him, colder than he had imagined; and of course he had done just that. Of course he had gone and imagined _everything_.

And of course his imaginings had paled in comparison to the real thing.

Carla's eyes burn. She can't see, but she doesn't panic. She blinks until the sensation is gone; her cheeks wet, her heart heavy. She breathes deeply. He is holding her in his arms, swaying her from one side to the other, calming her insides in a way that makes her never want to let go of him. And it's like he knows, because the embrace tightens and his breath is against her hair, and it's like last night all over again except he doesn't have to leave her in the morning, and this time she doesn't even want him to.

His lips ghost over her ear and it takes all the strength she has left within herself not to fall apart there and then.

Relief swells in her chest until her throat closes up and speech is something that is truly unattainable to her – but not to Nick.

"We should go inside."

They've been holding each other for a matter of minutes, but it could so easily have been hours. Days, weeks.

He pulls away from her so slowly that she almost doesn't let him. She manages a small smile that is as genuine as the way his eyes are all over her face; checking, searching. Making sure this is what she wants, not realising it is what she needs. Shaking fingers brush away her tears and he doesn't make a thing of it. He doesn't embarrass her like that, he wouldn't even dare. They just look at each other, the silence stretching on for perhaps a moment too long before it is broken by the sound of her lips against his. A lingering kiss.

Their fingers find each other and hold on tightly.

"Come on, then," she whispers.

They take their time as they walk up to her flat. They pass his door on the way and Carla almost stops in front of it. She almost begs him to leave her whilst he still can, to go home and forget about whatever this is before it gets given a name and a place in an organ that should only be used to pump blood and they'll be no going back for either of them.

But she doesn't. Because she can't, because she fears it is already too late.

It is Nick who opens the door to her flat. Her keys are in his hand, taken from the left pocket of her coat where he knows they are always kept, and there is something really comforting about the way he drops them down onto her coffee table, about the way he shuts her door behind her, watching as she slumps herself against it, his expression wondrous as he bends down to remove his shoes.

She is so heavy – but when he touches her, she's light.

"You don't have to do that," she says to him.

But he has already taken them off.

"Tea? Coffee?"

It takes her a moment to realise that he has moved into the kitchen.

"Nick, don't."

She follows him, taking his hands from the kettle and placing them on her hips instead. She leans into him again. Her eyes are closed and her breathing is shallow. She rests her head against his shoulder and lets him kiss the top of her head; his fingers sliding around her waist to meet at the small of her back.

She wants her coat off and she wants it off now.

She opens her eyes to boxes. Her life is in boxes at their feet and Nick must know what she is thinking because he has taken her over to the couch where they are no longer in view, the couch upon which they first made love. And it wasn't slow. And it wasn't what she had been expecting. But as they lay together afterwards – her body limp, her eyes drooping, and he kissed each of her fingers like they meant more to him than her entire existence means to her – something inside her snapped. What was only a dull ache before became an open wound that no amount of LA sunshine would ever have been able to fix.

No amount of LA sunshine would ever have been able to fix her problems, but that knowledge doesn't hurt her now as much as it did an hour ago.

God, she wasn't lying when she said she was tired.

"Then sleep," Nick whispers.

His lips are at her ear again and her legs are on top of his. They are holding each other so tightly that Carla is finding it difficult to breathe because it's too much and it's too little, but it feels like enough. _He_ feels like enough.

She wants him to take her to bed. She wants him to make her forget herself, to make her feel like she's worth something to someone, someone who has come to be worth more to her than she could ever have imagined.

And imagine she has.

Instead, he lets her sleep.

________________________

And when she wakes, he is there with her.

He has moved her to her bed. He has removed her bag and her coat and her shoes, placing her underneath the duvet and himself on top of it. She aches for him. She aches for his fingers to touch her skin instead of her hair, for his eyes to open and tell her what he can't yet say.

He shifts beside her. She knows he is awake.

"I'm sorry about this morning."

Why does her voice sound so broken?

"No, I'm sorry."

He turns to face her. _His eyes._ God, his eyes make her heart jump. He is looking at her so intently, so apologetically that she very nearly whimpers. She feels his gaze everywhere at once. She wants to feel him everywhere at once.

"I was expecting too much," he tells her, his words quiet in the half-darkness of the room. It doesn't feel like summer, neither inside or out; it feels like spring. Carla stares at the drawn curtains in the far corner, just so she doesn't have to look at the pained expression on his face as he admits to her, "I shouldn't have pushed you."

"Yeah, well. I shouldn't have pushed you away." _I was scared. I'm still scared. How are you not scared?_ "Come here." Carla pulls back the duvet and Nick doesn't need telling twice. He places his next to hers on the same pillow she is resting on. His fingers slip beneath the hem of her shirt and her lips graze his cheek. "I didn't want to, you know. I just... Nick, I don't want to hurt you."

"You've said."

"But I don't."

_You don't deserve it._

Nick sighs against her, and she finds herself sighing back. She reaches for his tie, loosens it until it comes off in her hands, and climbs on top of him, her fingers in search of skin, in search of what she came so close to leaving behind. What she knows she could still lose; and probably will.

When he speaks, she has to strain to hear him.

"You are going to hurt me, Carla. And I am going to hurt you." He is stroking her hair, his eyes never leaving hers. "But you know what?"

Her stomach flips.

"What?" she asks.

"I don't care."

He pulls her down for a kiss and they say no more about it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"I'm not wearing a tutu for anyone."_
> 
> _"Spoilsport."_

"What time do you finish?"

She drops the pen and turns around in his arms. She can't quite remember how she got there, the movement into them, into him, already so quick; so natural; so _right_ that it's hard to believe that a week ago, she wouldn't dare seek comfort from him. Their eyes meet as Carla leans further into Nick. His fingers brush against her arm, and she shivers. His smile is soft, their voices quiet.

"I've a couple of hours to go yet," he tells her. She can tell he's disappointed.

Carla nods slowly.

"I see," she says. "Right, then."

She kisses his cheek, lingering against his skin long enough for her to feel his heavy exhale at the thought of her leaving him so soon. She smiles, just so, and Nick frowns in return – although that frown is soon replaced with the shaking of his head as she sits herself down at the bar, resting her chin against her folded arms which she has placed on top of it.

She is such a tease.

"You know what I like." Her fingers dance around the edge of one of the empty glasses in front of her, the way she is looking at him proving his point as drink is the furthest thing from Nick's mind.

He moves so that he is behind the bar and his hand reaches for hers across it.

"You don't have to stay."

His words hit her squarely in the chest, for they once belonged to her, murmured after too much wine and too little talking. He did stay in the end. He stayed the whole weekend because she couldn't bear to be alone, the temptation of losing herself in one poker game too many something she doesn't think she would've have been able to have resisted with only herself for company.

So, she lost herself in him instead.

She throws his own words back at him.

"I know. But I want to."

Nick smiles.

Never has he wanted a shift to pass so quickly.

________________________

"I'm proud of you."

Carla rolls her eyes as she puts her coat on. The sky has just began to darken; there are clouds overhead and a slight chill in the air. She watches Nick lock up with a fond expression on her face. When he is done, he offers her his arm, and she takes it as if this is something they have done a countless number of times before. (Which she supposes is rather true, though they've never stood so close, never walked so in sync.)

"You do realise how patronising that sounds, don't you?" says Carla.

Nick chuckles under his breath.

"No, I mean it." She looks up at him and nods. "Forty percent is a lot, you know? Are you sure you can trust him? I mean, Aidan _seems_ like a decent bloke, but you said yourself that it's been years since you last saw him and—"

She stops him before he gets too ahead of himself.

"Wow, Nick." She is shaking her head with disbelief. "And there was me thinking you wanted me to go into business with him."

"I did. I do! I just—"

She interrupts him again, a playful smile teasing at her lips.

"Let's put it this way. I trust him with that business a lot more than I ever trusted you."

They stop walking. Nick looks shocked.

"Hey!" he warns.

"Hey," she whispers – and then she kisses him, properly this time, because she can. Because it's what she's wanted to do for hours.

The doors at the Rovers, which they have conveniently stalled in front of, swing open and out falls a more than tipsy Erica. Her hair is a dishevelled mess and she is dragging her bag behind her as opposed to carrying it.

Carla and Nick immediately spring apart. Carla can feel her heartbeat in her ears, even though she knows they haven't really been caught doing anything wrong.

"Good evening," Erica slurs. She has difficulty getting out her words.

"Hi," says Nick.

"Alright?"

Erica nods. How she is still steady on her feet is a complete mystery to her.

"Nice evening for it."

Carla and Nick share a look.

"Yeah, it is," Nick agrees. He is awkward, unsure.

"I saw you this morning," Erica can't help but say.

She hasn't been able to stop thinking about it. The slowness with which walked her to work, his hand light on her back, her smile not quite as well hidden as she would have liked him to believe. They'd stopped and talked outside the factory, the conversation lasting minutes, if that; their eyes giving them away, the kisses they'd exchanged soft and lingering.

They hadn't been flaunting it, but they certainly hadn't been trying to conceal it either.

Carla wishes she had the decency to blush.

"Right."

"You happy, then?"

Carla can feel Nick's eyes on her and the intensity she knows are in them without even looking makes her heart beat faster, and she hates that he can do this to her, because sometimes she longs for the day when her heart seizes to beat. Sometimes she longs for it to slow, to stop; but his hands are on her waist, and his lips so close to her ear, and he is taking her home. She wants him to take her home.

"Very," he says simply.

If only being happy were really as simple as he is making it sound.


	3. Chapter 3

It's three in the morning and she needs to hear the sound of his voice. She isn't entirely sure why. She's still somewhat drunk, still somewhat conflicted. But she misses him. Ridiculously, it is the lack of him in her bed that wakes her.

And that almost scares her as much as his earlier confession.

Almost, but not quite.

Sitting up to a weight upon her lap, Carla blindly moves her laptop to the floor, uncaring for the _WINNER_ notification displayed across its screen. The winning doesn't matter to her; it never has. But never before has the word _winner_ in relation to herself felt so wrong, so fraudulent. Because that's what she is now. A fraud. Someone who is lost to the point where there can be no way back. If she's being honest, Carla isn't sure she even wants a way back, for she has convinced herself that she doesn't deserve one.

Through bleary eyes, she reaches for her mobile. She presses the home button and the display illuminates her face. She has two missed calls from Michelle; but five from Nick – and a text message. Her fingers shake as she rushes to unlock the phone and she hates herself for feeling so weak. She hates _him_ for making her feel such a way.

The message reads:

_Ignore that voicemail. If you want me to back off, I'll back off. I just want you to know that you don't have to go through this alone. I'm here, yeah? Whenever, whatever. Just talk to me, Carla. I want to listen. x_

Intrigued, Carla dials the number she knows will lead her to his voice. Prerecorded or not, she knows that the pain in her chest she has been feeling in the hours since she told him to go will not leave until it has been given what it craves. _Him._ In whatever form it happens to find him in.

Carla lets the voicemail play, her breathing unsteady as his words fill her head. He is so close to her, but so far. In actuality, he is mere meters from her. They occupy the same building, and Carla finds herself wondering if he can sleep without her by his side, if his thoughts for her are as loud as hers are for him.

"Hi. Carla, it's me." There's a long pause, which isn't really a pause at all. More of a long sigh. She can practically feel his frustration through the phone, though what it is directed at she cannot be sure. "Oh, _God_. Carla. About before... I am so sorry. That was the last thing you needed to hear. The last thing you _wanted_ to hear, I'm sure. And I completely understand why you reacted in the way that you did. I really do. You know, you've got enough problems without me adding to them. Because me loving you is a problem, isn't it? God, I've really gone and done it now, haven't I?" She does not know of the way his lips trembled as he whispered these words, locked in his office with only his self doubt for company. "It was selfish of me. So selfish. I just hope that I've not completely ruined things, you know? Because I meant what I said. The money isn't important; _you_ are. You are more important than anything." She fails to hear his choked _to me_ , something which Nick would be glad about if he knew. "So, you know, ring me back. Whenever you're ready." There's another pause. "Okay? Well, I've got to get back to work now, but... I just want to help, Carla. And even if you don't believe that you need my help, please consider it. At least consider it. Okay? Okay, right. Well, I'll see you later." She can feel him slipping away from her and she doesn't like it. She doesn't like it one bit. "Bye, Carla."

She drops the phone to the bed and sinks down onto one of the pillows. The concern she had heard in his voice physically tore at her heart. Her heart has taken some beating today and she doubts it will ever feel better if she keeps denying it of what it wants. She closes her eyes, ignoring the moisture she can feel building up behind them and instead takes comfort in the darkness that surrounds her, that envelopes her as if it were a blanket, keeping her safe and away from the outside world, but mostly protecting her from herself, for she cannot recognise who she is in the dark. She cannot see who, or rather _what_ , she has become.

She lies still for what feels like hours, but it is only a matter of minutes. Her phone is back in her hand and she is ringing Nick before her sleep induced mind is even able to come up with an opening line. It is three in the morning and she is ringing him because she knows that he will pick up. He will groan as he is woken from his slumber, rolling onto his back and smiling just slightly as he manages to read the caller ID. Because he loves her.

He told her that he loves her, and she really does believe him.

She doesn't have to wait long for him to pick up the phone. Soon, the sound of his breathing fills the line and it is a comfort to her as well as a curse, for she needs him with her; not just a voice, but a being she can curl herself into and wish herself away with.

She has woke him from what has turned out to only be a nap. His lips are dry as he speaks her name, his voice cracking somewhat after having gone hours without being used.

"Carla?"

It is a question, a prayer and a breathy sigh all in one.

She doesn't reply. She is crying silently, but she is crying all the same.

He says it again. "Carla?"

Her heart really hurts now.

"I want to see you." How she manages to speak she does not know. All she knows is that, "I _need_ to see you. Nick, please."

He does not need telling twice.

"I'll be two minutes."

He is actually three, but this detail isn't important. Carla waits in the darkness for the inevitable sound of his key turning in the lock, the key she had given him without words the first weekend they'd ever spent together because it had felt right, it had felt natural that he should be able to come and go as he pleases. The next thing she hears is his footsteps, hesitant footsteps that stop outside her bedroom door. He pushes the door open with unsteady hands and suddenly Carla finds herself on her feet, meeting him in the middle of the room, not with a smile, but with a calmness in her bones that she'd almost forgotten could exist.

"Hi," she breathes.

"Hello."

She rests her head against his shoulder, her arms tight around his middle as he holds her close to his chest. Nick's lips skim the top of Carla's head and she sighs against him, her own pressing kisses to the skin below his left ear. He does not say the words he wishes she'd let him, but the ones he does say suffice.

"It's going to be okay."

She doesn't believe him in the same way she believes that she is loved by this man, but she lets him kiss her lips regardless. The gentleness with which he does almost makes her smile with amusement, for this bedroom has not bore witness to much of that. They've always been heady and desperate by the time they've managed to reach her bed – more often than not, they haven't – but Carla finds that she doesn't mind this change. In fact, she rather likes it. His gentleness sets her nerves on edge. She hums into him.

"Nick." She manages to catch his eyes, despite the absence of light. "Stay?"

His kiss is his answer, but he tells her what she already knows because as much as she hates to admit it, she does need to hear it.

"Always," he whispers.


	4. Chapter 4

She tells him that she is proud of him as he once said he was of her. In actual fact, she is amazed.

"It's done. He's been rehired. I hope you're happy."

And she is. She is happier than she has felt in months – and it feels good. _She_ feels good. He makes her feel good.

She kisses him (she can't stop kissing him) as she promises she'll be back in the space of an hour. He gives her a quizzical glance and her smile widens. She touches his hand and then finally, reluctantly lets go of him.

"I said seven, remember?"

"What? You think I'd forgotten?"

After an odd conversation with Robert in the street, a man Carla believes has the potential to be screwed over by Tracy Barlow even more so than her own brother, she makes her way over to her flat. She opens the door and is met by what can only be described as chaos. Not only are half of her possessions still packed up in boxes here, there and everywhere, but there are also two empty wine glasses by her laptop; a suit jacket hanging from the sofa; her flip flops in the middle of the floor from where she had taken them off the night before. The room looks lived in; cohabited.

As she enters the flat, Carla runs a hand over one of the boxes, her fingers collecting dust, and decides that she'll unpack this weekend. She may even get Nick to help her.

Safe in the knowledge that she can (and will) move on with her life, she walks into her bedroom and sets down her bag. The bed is unmade, her makeup laid out across the duvet for easy access. She smiles to herself, remembering the way Nick had tried to persuade her to stay in bed just a moment longer only hours earlier, her excuse of not wanting to be late to work doing very little to stop his efforts. Carla heads to her wardrobe and its contents are as black as she once felt. She looks down at the white shirt that adorns her body and finds that it is a miracle she was able to find it in the first place. She sighs, and then colour catches her eyes.

The dress is new and red, a deep red; bought when she still had money.

The word Nick uses to describe it is, " _Wow_ ," when she enters the bistro five minutes later than she told him she would. Or maybe his omission has very little to do with the dress. Maybe he is too busy noticing the colour in her cheeks, the sparkle in her eyes, the genuineness of her smile. 

"Where is everyone?" she asks.

It takes her a moment to realise that, like the night before, they are completely alone. It seems that he has turfed out his customers for her, _again_. She knows she should feel somewhat guilty for that, but it's not like she asked him to. Besides, she is so done with feeling guilty.

"Come here."

And just like that, she is in his arms. His hands interlock at the base of her spine and she runs hers over his shoulders, down his arms, before they settle on either side of his neck, her thumbs stroking over the skin she finds there. Her head moves into its natural position, resting against his. He is smiling, and she is smiling, and laughter bubbles in her throat. He catches her eye and his smile turns into a grin. 

"You okay?" he asks. 

She nods, not caring for how overenthusiastic the motion is. 

"I am more than okay. So much more than okay," she mumbles, closing her eyes and pressing a lingering kiss to his top lip. She then does the same to the bottom. 

He holds her tighter against him, her breath hitching as his hands smooth over the silk of her red, red dress. 

"You look beautiful," he whispers. God, his gaze is making her feel it.

They kiss again, though it is more just the pressing together of lips, of smiles too wide and overdue to be kept hidden from one another for the sake of a peck. 

"So, this date..." Nick trails off. Carla takes a step back and holds onto each of his hands, their fingers lacing together as they have already done so many times before, as she leads him over to the table she can see he has laid out for them. 

She turns to him, impressed. 

"You remembered the candles," she says softly. 

He kisses her cheek and she leans into him, allowing him to pull back a chair for her to sit upon. Usually, she would be adverse to such behaviour, tradition being something that she tends to distance herself from, but she can't find it in her to care right now. They are alone and they are happy and she will not let anything ruin this moment. 

"Of course," he says, somewhere close to her ear. He sits himself down opposite her. "I remember everything when it comes to you."

And she doesn't doubt that for a second. 

Nick pours the wine as Carla looks down at their plates. She is laughing again, and Nick knows why. He predicts her words before they have even left her mouth. 

"Salad?" She turns her nose up in disgust, her eyes eyeing by the plates sceptically. "Honestly, Nicholas. I was expecting a lavish three course meal. Some boyfriend you are." She huffs and folds her arms across her chest, mirth dancing in her eyes. 

_Boyfriend._

The word hits him in his chest, hard; it always does. He has to pause for breath before he replies, "Excuse me, but I have only just reinstated my chef. It'd have been cheeky of me to ask him back here to make a meal for his boss' dinner date."

"Oh, but you have no problems when it comes to being cheeky with me," she points out, her smirk suggestive. 

Nick laughs. 

"Of course. That's different."

Carla rolls her eyes and reaches for her wine glass. Nick leans forward in his seat to remove his suit jacket. He pulls at his tie and lets it slip between his fingers. Their table is the smallest in the bistro, chosen purposefully by Nick for that very reason. Their knees touch underneath it. 

"If you're still hungry afterwards—" 

"I will be." She bites her lip. Her eyes do not leave his. 

"—there's always the chippy." He says this slowly, as if realising his mistake. 

"The chippy." Carla pauses for effect. Her eyebrow arches. "Really, Nick, the chippy? Dressed like this?" 

He laughs, and his hand finds hers across the table. His fingers stroke her knuckles and she feels calm. She ignores the broken skin on his, for there are more important things now at hand. She just wants to forget and look forwards instead of constantly back.

She has been looking over her shoulder for far too long. 

"Yeah, the chippy." His voice is low as he repeats, "Dressed like that."

She squeezes his hand, but the look she throws Nick tells him to _dream on_. It's quiet in the bistro, music playing softly from the speakers a song she thinks she recognises. Candles flicker in front of her eyes and the flames no longer have the ability to strike the fear of God into her. Instead, they are gentle, soothing, romantic – as they should be. As they are to other, normal people. 

She drops his hand to pick up her fork. 

"I best get eating my lettuce leaves, then," she quips. 

Nick shakes his head at her and laughs. He lets her eat for a moment, watches her and delights in the fact that she even has an appetite. He'd been worried the week before. So, so worried. 

"Our first date," he says quietly, mostly to himself. 

Her smile is gentle. She throws her head back, relief softening her features, hair tumbling down her back. 

"Finally," she breathes, and when their eyes meet, _they know_ what the other is thinking. 

Erica. 

The fire. 

The miscarriage. 

The gambling. 

It has taken them such a long time to get to where they are now, but as she takes a deep breath and earns herself a smile from her lover, Carla decides that the wait has been worth it, if only for the way he makes her feel safe within herself. For the way he accepts her for who she is, even when she is having difficulty in accepting herself. 

"We've done this rather backwards, haven't we?" says Nick, amused. 

He has picked up his fork, but he has no intention of eating. The salad on his plate looks far from appetising – they both know this. 

"We have," Carla agrees. She nudges her foot against his. 

"I'm not bothered, though." 

"Neither am I."

They spend the next hour chatting of trivial nonsense, pretending they don't know each other, discovering their favourite colours and childhood heroes; discussing their first impressions of one another and what they have regretted during the short time that they have been in love. 

Their eyes don't stray from one another for long, their hands always touching, stroking, adding pressure. 

"How long?"

The question catches him off guard. They have moved from their table to one of the fitted couches in the corner of the room. She is tucked into his side, her index finger running up and down his chest as his plays with locks of her hair. Her cheek is against his shoulder, her legs resting on top of his. 

He looks down at her, and she smiles up at the curiousness of his expression. 

"How long what?" he asks. 

His lips press to her forehead. 

"How long have you loved me?"

His heart almost stops, for this is a question he has often asked himself. He hadn't wanted to fall in love with her and he certainly hadn't _needed to_ ; but he had done so all the same, and for that he is glad. Love has never felt like this before and if he is being honest with himself, the intensity of what he feels for her terrifies him. He cannot bear to lose her. Not now, not ever. 

"Months," he eventually whispers. Because it is the truth. 

She smiles widely up at him. 

"Months," she whispers in reply. 

Another hour passes and they can no longer dismiss their hunger. Nick suggests the chippy once more and Carla gives in because this is Nick and she is hungry, and, really, it is what she would've settled with in the first place. 

So, they eat chips in the street. And when it gets dark, they head back to Carla's flat, and they kiss and kiss and kiss until their eyes close and their breathing slows. And they sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

He cannot believe how long it has lasted. It isn't like she barely uses it. There is always something resting upon it; a wine glass, a box file. Even Carla herself when they are slightly too drunk to realise that the makeshift table, the cardboard box marked _fragile_ , will not be able to support her weight.

And it doesn't.

It is a Monday and they are already one bottle of wine into the evening. Their jackets have been thrown carelessly to the floor and his shirt is half open, she is pulling at him to stand, but Nick doesn't feel like moving very far. Blindly, they stumble backwards, and Carla should know the moment her legs hit the cardboard that it is not going to hold her, but this turns out to be merely an afterthought.

They collapse into a heap on the floor, the box now laid flat, crushed, beneath them. Their breathing is ragged not only from their kisses, but from the shock of what has just happened.

Carla cries out in pain.

"Nick." They have landed funny. "Nick, get off me."

He moves quickly upon realising that her arm is trapped beneath his. They then manoeuvre themselves so that they are sitting on the floor with their legs crossed and their backs resting against the couch. Once their hearts have began to beat again at a normal rate, they dare to look at each other and immediately burst out into laughter.

"For God's sake," Carla moans, kicking the box just to make a point of its uselessness.

Nick has his head in his hands. His shoulders are shaking with mirth and Carla rests her chin upon one of them, unable to contain her smirk as her eyes meet his. He stops laughing and simply smiles at her.

"It was only a matter of time," he points out.

Carla rolls her eyes.

"You were gonna have me against a coffee table." She sighs dramatically and he feels her breath upon his face. "Classy."

He is laughing again.

"I didn't see you complaining at the time." His hand has found hers and he squeezes it tightly. Carla places their joined hands into her lap and looks down at them as he continues to speak. "Besides, you call that a coffee table? Carla, it was a cardboard box."

She nods slowly, condescendingly.

"All the more reason for you not to—"

But he interrupts her.

"How long have you been back here now?"

His question catches her off guard. Carla frowns at it.

"I'm sorry?"

"The flat. How long have you been back here?" He pauses and then adds, "Actually, don't answer that. I already know; it's been a month."

A month since she returned from Vegas and told him of her problems. A month since she lost everything and decided that she wanted to lose even more, wanted to lose those who love her, because she thought that was what she deserved. God, he does not know what he would've done if she had left for LA, left him with all of this love he feels for her stuck inside of him with no way of escape. Just the thought of her being so far from him when he now knows that she can never be close enough makes his heart physically ache. He strokes her hand with his thumb, reassuring himself that this is real and he is not about to wake from a dream he finds far too good to be true.

Carla does not understand where he is going with this, so she tells him so.

"Nick, what are you banging on about?" She sounds exasperated, but the smile she wears is gentle. Patient.

He grins at her.

"When are you going to buy yourself some furniture?"

Her head drops to his shoulder, heavily and without warning. It is almost as if the subject has exhausted her, even though they have yet to touch upon it.

"Soon," she tells him.

Nick nods, but in a sceptic manner.

"How soon?"

She closes her eyes. Carla does not tell him that the reason she has put off buying furniture for so long has had little to do with her state of mind and more to do with the fact that she fears she will no longer be able to afford her own tastes. Because she has not replied, Nick kisses her forehead, as if to remind her of his presence. She zones out rather frequently and he almost always uses this tactic to recapture her attention; and it almost always works.

Now is no exception.

"Sorry."

Carla smiles and blinks herself out of it. She then sits up and leans across to press her lips to Nick's, lingering against them for a long moment before they break the kiss.

"Tomorrow," she says, letting go of his hand and instead laying hers flat against his chest. She gently strokes her fingers over where she knows his heart is steadily beating. "Tomorrow, we should go coffee table shopping."

His laugh is light and airy, his grin large and contagious.

"What? Is that a thing now?" he wonders aloud.

Carla grins back at him, her lips very nearly touching his. "Yes, it's a thing. It can be our... _thing_."

His heart feels so full, for they are acting so normal, so like a proper couple that he finally believes they are.

"I like the sound of that," he whispers. He pulls her onto his lap and rests a hand on either side of her waist.

They kiss again and it isn't long before she has ridded him of his shirt and he of hers. And neither wonder why she wants him to help her choose furniture for a flat that isn't his, both knowing that it is only a matter of time before what is now only hers becomes _theirs_.

Nick cannot remember the last time he went home. Home, now, is wherever the woman currently pressing kisses to his neck decides to take herself. He'd go with her anywhere and he knows she would return the favour, if only he asked.


	6. Chapter 6

"I can't wait to get you home."

His lips are pressed to her ear where they have often found themselves during the course of the evening. She smirks and leans further into him, her forehead resting against his cheek as she mumbles, "Home?"

She feels him hum.

"Yeah, home."

There is quite a long pause. Carla removes herself from his arms and places down her glass. She turns so that her arms are around his neck and she is smiling softly up at him, fingers combing through his hair at the back of his head.

"Mine or yours?"

His smile is slight.

"Does it matter?" he asks.

"Suppose not."

She leans in and kisses him. She swears she has not been able to go longer than half an hour without doing so, but then he has been the same with her, and she does not feel like blaming her sudden amorousness on the multiple glasses of wine she has consumed. It is him. It is everything about him that she cannot get enough of.

They part, smiling, sighing as they realise that the party isn't yet over. The pub has emptied considerably since Lloyd and Andrea departed from it, but they know that their disappearance would still be noticed, even now.

Carla sways slightly in Nick's arms and kisses him again.

"Give it half an hour and I'm all yours," she whispers into him.

________________________

She hangs off his arm as they walk back to Victoria Court. Partly because she is tipsy, but mostly because she wants to. It still seems odd to her that she can now do whatever she wants to and not have to have a reason as to why. She no longer feels that she has to justify her every action. She can just _be_ and it's liberating and he's unlocking the door to his flat before she has even gauged where they are. It is only when she feels her back slam against the shut door that she realises. And then she smiles, letting him cup her face in his hands and kiss her, softly at first and then not softly at all.

She blindly grabs at his jacket, feeling for the zip. The leather is cold against her hands, the same as it was two days earlier when she had found the jacket at the back of his wardrobe, already forgetting to be subtle with her snooping. His face had been one of disbelief as she presented it to him with a pleading look and an direct question.

"How come you don't wear this any more?"

She hadn't been able to remember the last time she had seen him in it - and neither had he.

He just shrugged it off and pursed his lips. He hadn't worn it since the accident. For some reason, he associated it with his life before. The life he can never get back.

"I don't know," he lied, but then he noticed the look in her eyes and the smile that was tugging at her lips which morphed into a, "Please wear it."

Nick rolled his eyes.

"Why?"

She'd taken a step closer to him and nudged her nose against his, knowing how much he loves it, eyes meeting as she bit her lip in a manner he is only ever able to find suggestive.

"Because I love a man in leather."

Her fingers then brushed against his chest in the same way that they are currently doing, except they didn't then rip open the buttons of his shirt like they are doing right now. They haven't even managed to switch the light on, but they can see one another's faces in the glow from outside, and they are already panting, already too far gone to stop. Her coat and jacket are quickly discarded and thrown into a pile on the floor. His hands are underneath her shirt and he is pressing against her with purpose, her lips against his neck. Kissing and kissing.

The shove against the door they are leaning against stops each of their hearts for longer than they'd ever care to admit. They stare at each other as the sound of a key turning in the lock fills the silence that is now between them. They exhale deeply.

Bethany.

Quickly, they straighten themselves out and move away from the door. Carla kicks their jackets out of the way and steps towards the kitchen, leaving Nick to switch on the light and button back up at least half of his shirt.

But Bethany isn't stupid. She knows exactly what they've been up to the moment she enters the flat, their dishevelled appearances and laboured breathing unexplainable otherwise, but she appears to be in such a foul mood that she does not feel the need to comment.

"Alright?" Carla asks, her smile slight.

She's still not used to being in Nick's flat when his family are around. It isn't awkward, but it is far from comfortable. She feels like she's being intrusive and that she is out of place, but Nick tells her that he feels exactly the same way with them most of the time. They have that effect on people – apparently.

Bethany shrugs her shoulders and walks towards the door of the bedroom she shares with her mother. Whether or not she will make an appearance tonight Nick does not know.

"I'm going to bed," Bethany announces, to which Nick frowns.

"Really?"

It is midnight, but she'll usually do anything to stay up just that little bit longer, as is the way with most teenagers. Nick's learnt that the hard way.

"Yes." She is short with him. "It's a school night, Uncle Nicky. Keep the noise down, will you? I'm tired."

And then the bedroom door clicks shut. There is no goodnight, no nothing. Carla and Nick stare at each other, bemused.

"Did that just happen?" he asks. Carla makes her way over to him, his arms circling her waist as he walks her backwards into his own bedroom.

"Yes. I think it just did," she replies, placing a small kiss to his lips. Her whisper is an amused one. "Uncle Nicky."

________________________

Her first thought when she wakes is that she is cold. Nick's side of the bed is empty and she sits up, reaching for the dressing gown he keeps at the end of his bed and slipping it on. She stands on unsteady feet for a moment before she exits the bedroom. She smiles as she catches sight of him in the kitchen, buttering bread. But her smile soon slips as she notices that Bethany is sat at the island in front of him, already dressed for school whilst Carla is dressed in very little at all.

"Good morning," Nick says upon noticing her in the doorway.

Carla approaches the kitchen and allows him to kiss her. He does not only do it the once. Bethany groans.

"Do you mind?" she says. "Some of us are trying to eat here."

Carla grins.

"No, not really," she quips, giving him one last lingering kiss for good measure.

Nick and Carla smile at each other as Carla takes a seat beside Bethany.

"You off to school, then?"

Bethany rolls her eyes.

"Duh. I'm not wearing this for the fun of it, am I?" She pulls at her tie. Carla cannot say that she is taken aback by this point; she is more than used to Bethany's ways. Being rude is a favourite of hers. She sighs loudly and calls over to Nick, "Have you done my brew yet? I'm gonna end up being late if you're not careful."

"Well, do it yourself, then."

Her sigh turns into a huff. She throws herself out of her seat and stalks over to the cupboard she knows the mugs are kept in. In a rush, she reaches for the nearest one to the edge, but accidentally knocks the mug over it. It hits the floor with a loud smashing sound, the clay breaking up into a number of small and large pieces at her feet.

Nick is the first to react.

"Oh, Bethany!" he cries.

She shoots him an apologetic look and reaches for her school bag.

"Sorry," she almost sings. "But I really need to go."

Nick takes a deep breath and thrusts her lunch into her hands. She smiles slightly before reaching up to kiss him on the cheek, her moody exterior melting for just the briefest of moments.

"Have a nice day," she says quietly. She meets Carla's eyes across the room and nods. "Both of you."

Bethany leaves the flat less noisily than she had entered it the night before. Nick is crouched down on the floor, picking up the fragments of what was once his most used mug. Carla walks slowly over to him and runs a hand over his back, bending so that she down to his level. She helps him pick up the pieces and together they get the job done within a matter of minutes.

They stand up with a sigh and place the pieces on to the side.

"Damn," Nick says. And Carla laughs.

"What?"

"That was my favourite mug," he admits, which only makes her laugh more.

"You have a favourite mug?" she questions, her arms now around his neck and his around her waist.

His smile is kissed.

"What? Don't you?"

"No," she says. "Nicholas, darling, I think that's just you."


	7. Chapter 7

He suggests lunch as she is buttering toast. His shirt, her kitchen; he creeps up on her and she is only aware of his presence when she feels hot breath against the back of her neck, followed by his lips which trail downwards and then up. She grips at the worktop, half startled and half extremely weak. Weak for him, even though barely half an hour has passed since she practically pinned him to the bed in an effort to stop him from getting up and showering. An effort that had, unfortunately, failed.

He hugs her to him from behind, sways her; almost. Her eyes flutter closed.

"Lunch. Yes?"

"Yes," she sighs, sinking into him. He is dressed for work, but his hair is still wet and she turns in his arms to run her fingers through it, pressing her body to his and enjoying the way his hands slip beneath the shirt she is wearing to caress her skin, as if with purpose. She bites her lip. "I'll meet you in the bistro, yeah?"

"Yeah." The kiss he plants upon her lips tells her that food is not all he has in mind. They smile as they break from it, his nose nudging hers in a way she has gotten far too used to already. "You're gonna be late for work."

His voice is not as scolding as he intends it to be. She laughs gleefully at him for pointing out the obvious.

"Again," she says with a slight smirk. It's like she's pleased with herself, but then she is lost in thought at why she was late the morning before. And the morning before that. And the morning before—

"Yeah, well. You can't blame me this time." They kiss her again before he reluctantly lets go of her. He misses the warmth of her body against his immediately as he moves across the flat to retrieve his shoes. "The bathroom's free, by the way."

She stands in the kitchen, unmoving. Her eyes are on him and she is smiling softly to herself, her chest aching with the love that she feels for him. He has no idea, she thinks, how carelessly happy he makes her feel with the slightest of gestures and the most simple of words.

"Carla?"

He doesn't think she's heard him. Carla blinks herself out of it and flashes him a brilliant smile.

"Oh. Right. Thank you."

________________________

A date in town hadn't been what she'd been expecting, but she's unable to complain when he is willing to skip work just to be in her company. They take his car and as he drives, again, Carla finds herself watching him, head tilted and resting against the cool leather of the passenger seat as he remains blissfully unaware of her eyes on him and simply focuses on the road ahead. A CD she knows they both own is playing quietly from the built in radio. She knows they share it because she recognises the songs that are playing; recognises herself in them, in fact. Or, rather, the person she once felt like. The lyrics are a little too sad for her current mood, so she switches the sound off with a start. Nick looks over at her as they stop at a traffic light.

"Where are we going?" she asks in a quiet voice.

Nick's face gives away nothing. His attempt at being mysterious, however, fails because he soon cracks and chuckles amusedly to himself.

"I'm not too sure," he admits. She rolls her eyes at his lack of thought. And there she was, thinking he'd planned the whole thing. "I thought we could go down to the Northern Quarter. Take our pick."

Carla nods, softening at the spontaneousness of his action.

"Sounds like a plan," she says, placing a perfectly innocent hand on his thigh, which soon becomes anything but when their eyes meet and they forget where they are. It takes the sound of a very loud car horn behind them to realise that the traffic lights have now turned green.

Nick coughs awkwardly and quickly puts the car back into motion. Carla leans back in her seat and smirks to herself, unable to resist squeezing his thigh before she lets go of it, her hand trailing off of him with a controlled and purposeful slowness.

"Keep your eyes on the road, Tilsley."

________________________

They decide to dine in a rather pretentious establishment Nick cannot stop himself from insulting at every given opportunity. Carla shouldn't indulge him with it, but she does – but she also rushes him because in public is the last place she wants to be and his inability to see that, or rather to show his knowledge of it to her, is slowly beginning to wear away her restraint.

Nick pays the bill and they are out of the door so quickly it takes a moment for their eyes to adjust to the change in light. Once they have, Carla drops his hand and pushes him against the side of the building they have just walked out of. His back hits the brick wall and rather than wincing, he pulls her to him by the hips and her kiss is bruising and needy and open mouthed and it is with a moan that she ends it, her smile something he knows he'll always cherish. To call it beautiful would only be an insult to the way it makes him feel.

"How long do your _business lunches_ usually last?" he asks her, toying with the zip of her coat. He is still catching his breath.

"Oh, hours," she says, swaying in his arms, fingers lightly clawing at his chest as she presses her lips to his again. This time, it is he who pulls away. He takes both of her hands in his and walks them backwards. She frowns slightly in confusion, following him blindly.

"Come on," he says.

"Where are we going?"

His answer is her backside hitting the bonnet of his car. She gasps and then lets out a quiet laugh, the paintwork cold against her thin jeans. They exchange long kisses as he fumbles to find his keys and subsequently unlocks the car. He meets her eyes.

"In. Now."

She has a nice lunch.


	8. Chapter 8

She hears the front door click shut and looks up immediately from her laptop, casting it aside and tossing him a brief smile as he removes his coat. He is later than he said he would be and something about his expression tells her that this evening's outing has worn him out. Carla pulls her legs up to her chest as he strides on over, practically throwing himself down onto the sofa next to her. His sigh is heavy and drawn out; it causes her to raise her eyebrows.

"How was it?" she dares to ask.

Nick merely closes his eyes and gives the slight shaking of his head.

"Don't," he says. "Just don't."

"That bad?"

She has shuffled closer to him, her head resting on top of her arm which she reclines lazily against the back of the sofa. She watches him as he speaks, his head tilting so that he can look at her. He smiles in a way he hopes she will find reassuring, his fingers meeting her shoulder as he stretches his arm out, and they dance gently across her skin.

"It's nothing, really." But she rolls her eyes at what is one of the most obvious lies he has told her in recent times and he feels the need to carry on. He can't not now, can he? "It's just that David told me something. He said that Kylie's back using and if I'm being honest, Carla, I can't believe it. I can't believe she'd throw everything away after she has come so far."

Her face drops in sympathy and she leans over to kiss his cheek. She's still not used to his family, still not used to their ways or the ways they use in relation to each other. But Carla likes Kylie. Carla knows that Kylie would never jeopardise the life that she has built for herself with David and the kids, not a second time. Not without a bloody good reason. She isn't that stupid.

Carla presses her forehead to Nick's and exhales deeply, laying her legs across his lap.

"Oh, baby," she murmurs. She strokes his hair, her eyes closing as if she is deep in thought. "Kylie's an addict. And like all addicts, that's just a part of who she is. It's not gonna change, no matter how far she comes – or seems to have come."

Nick nods lightly in recognition of what she is saying, in recognition of where it is coming from. They are silent for a moment, reflective – and then Carla breaks the silence with, "You're only pissed because I never went with you."

Nick laughs. He cannot deny the truth in her words.

"How was your meeting?" he asks.

"Dismal."

"Did you get the contract?"

"What do you think?"

Her face breaks out into a brilliant smile which he kisses from her lips with the same kiss he now realises he should've greeted her with. He pulls away, but pulls her to him. He wraps his arms around her waist as she settles in his lap. They share another smile.

She's back, alright. Her business finally feels like her own again, even with the added interference from not one, not two, but three unasked for Connors.

"Today was odd," Carla says lightly. "Not seeing you until now. I'd gotten used to the late mornings, the long lunches..."

"The skiving, you mean?"

She laughs and it is like music to his ears. He finds himself wondering how he has gone without it for so long, before realising that _so long_ has been a mere matter of hours. His dependance on her for happiness surprises even him.

"Yes. The skiving," she replies, her fingers raking up and down the front of his jumper. The material is soft to touch, softer than it looks. But she soon abandons stroking it altogether and instead lays her head against the knit, against his chest. She can feel his heart beating beneath her ear, him playing with the ends of her hair, his lips to the top of her head.

She feels truly relaxed for the first time all day. She buries her head deeper into his chest and whispers, "I'm so glad you're home."


End file.
